Why is it for some, that well intentioned endeavors that look good on the surface, make sense, and often supported by our associates, nearly always end up blindsiding us? Grief and humiliation will take its toll after a while. It seems our collective lot is forever tied to a bedfellow called failure. Will it forever be our fate to watch what is perceived by most as wise and good then turns to shit?
“Life’s rich pageant” mostly requires adlibbing to survive, as one must deal with both good and bad equally. Being quick on my feet; something that has served me well over the years, is no longer automatic. These days most of my woes are self-inflicted rather than random happenstance. This doesn’t excuse the culpability of individuals bent on hate or revenge. Usually directed at strangers, these people who have lost their own dreams can’t help but enjoy someone else’s tragedy. Nonetheless I put myself in harm’s way and got bitch slapped.
Most always bad news requires change. Lately these adjustments have been too difficult to assimilate so I’ve resisted them. That said, sooner or later one must face the inevitable truth. Ideally though you want to do this on your own terms rather than have it dictated to you with little mercy or perspective. It’s easy to Monday morning quarterback isn’t it? It’s those that can see things coming and take steps to alter or affect the impact that never sweat. I long to be a part of this group!
I found myself enjoying a chicken pot pie from Boston Market with a fine Pinot Noir, but felt sickened by its visual when removed from the oven….negating the warm vibes I started with. This combination was not only in bad taste, it also forced primary colors together which is always considered bad form. Burgundy red mixed with snot yellow, carrots and peas, all juxtaposed within a pie crust aided by dim lighting. It was just plain wrong!
I cleaned things up around the kitchen. I picked up the empty packaging and carried it out front to the big rubber can. Just as I turned to head back I heard what had to be a small dog barking frothing at me straining on the end of its leash. The incessant yapping of little dogs is in my top ten annoyances. I’d seen this woman walking her dog many times, but always from a moving car.
But there she was trying to keep her vicious Poodle from tearing me to shreds looking mighty fine. Not feeling too threatened I said hello and walked toward her with my hand extended to introduce myself. This drove the little hairball crazy and the SOB bit me on the ankle actually drawing blood! Shocked Carol insisted that I go to her house to let her administer to my wound. I told her it was nothing, but she insisted I come with her. She is very attractive for 58 years on this rock, so I limped only slightly.
She had me sit on her sofa with my injured foot propped atop the sofa’s arm; my foot completely exposed to her. She gently and meticulously cleaned the small gash wrapping the gauze Band-Aid securing the wrap with white tape. She’d obviously had some kind of training given her efficient ministrations. Although finished, she continued to massage my foot causing me great pleasure. Ever had someone massage your feet? God it’s glorious! After a few minutes she stopped and looked directly at me and asked, “Marzuki is this all the attention you’ll need tonight?”
Believe it or not I seriously replied, “why yes, thanks so much for the first aid.” With that, I got up and told her I’d see her around and let myself out!
About 2:00 AM I sat straight up in bed and screamed…